


Berry Boats and Loosened Collars (Or: Tiddy Touches) (Or: Motorboat)

by SlimeAndSnails



Series: Audacity [2]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Asmodeus Being Asmodeus, Attempt at Humor, Chaos, Chaotic MC is BACK, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I Tried, Lots of it tbh, M/M, Multi, Other, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Touching, at least I hope so lol, everyone is thirsty, gender neutral reader, gotta cover all the bases, its super mild, like one percent spicy but no actual spice happens, like really, mc is an agent of chaos and is very good at what they do, mc touches everyone's bobbies, nonsexual touching, not actually that cracky but yknow how it be, ok actual tag time, the long awaited sequel, very very mild injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimeAndSnails/pseuds/SlimeAndSnails
Summary: The long awaited sequel to my Magnum Opus, the infamous Slapass.MC is once again on a rampage, this time aiming for "higher" prospects. Hilarity ensues, and so does a little fluff. Much softer than its predecessor, but still has that peak comedy.Dedicated to the lovely Doge who blessed me with good luck for my birthday pull!
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, House Of Lamentation - Relationship, Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: Audacity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670011
Comments: 225
Kudos: 956





	1. Lucifer

**Author's Note:**

> As always, the main character's name is given a placeholder: (_). If you'd like to replace that with a specific name, you might look into various text replacer extensions and plugins for your browser.
> 
> Poor Luci gets a shorter chapter, but I'll make up for it in the next installment, I promise.

You really need to see about learning some self control. If this keeps happening, Lucifer is going to somehow make you spontaneously combust. You think that maybe he’s beginning to think you’re some kind of pervert, which is not entirely untrue.

But seriously, he’s been so sweet all night. He’d taken you out to dinner at Ristorante Six, something about making up for how hostile he’d been to you after your ass slapping extravaganza. Apparently Diavolo had found the whole thing roaringly hilarious and thought Lucifer was overreacting with all of his murderous intent and death auras and such any time you so much as looked at someone’s butt.

So Lucifer had swallowed just a tiny bit of his enormous pride and knocked on your door, graciously inviting you to an “apology dinner”. And he’d asked you specifically to _not_ get the cheapest thing on the menu. (You’d compromised by getting the cheapest human-safe thing on the menu, something he assuredly noticed but didn’t comment on.) You’d made nice conversation with him throughout the meal, talking about your various tasks at RAD and some silly thing Mammon had done the other day. The whole thing reminded you that he’s a really very pleasant person to be around when he doesn’t want to kill you.

And then you ruined it.

He’d walked you back to your room, being gracious and proper as always. Feeling very brave, you’d gone for a hug, which he was polite enough to accept. And he’s so warm.

You can practically feel the quality of his expensive vest, some sort of silky and luxurious fabric. And Lucifer is very tall. And distractingly handsome. You can’t remember any other time you’ve hugged him like this, and especially not in the context of having had a very lovely definitely-not-a-date with him. You find you can’t tell if you’ve been holding onto him for seconds or minutes or hours, relishing in the prestige of being able to hug _the_ Lucifer without being immediately murdered. And the definite musculature you feel under his clothing. **Damn**.

When he clears his throat, you snap to the realization that you’ve buried your face in his chest and have just been standing there, cuddling up to him, for an awkward _five whole minutes_. His confusion is practically tangible in the air. He makes no move to push you away, but there’s no way he’s not annoyed by your snuggling. You quickly let go of him, brushing off the front of his vest carefully. You don’t feel like dying today.

You remember last time you touched him inappropriately and without warning, and his swift retribution immediately following. Your ass twinges at the reminder of his gloved hand coming down on it in a decidedly non-sexy way. You’re not looking forward to finding out what he’d do in return for this, not sure exactly what he’d think of.

Looking up, you see his eyes burning into you, shining a brighter red than you’ve ever seen and with a dangerous glint you don’t recognize. He’s stepping even closer to you (which is indeed very very close, his chest pressing back up against your own). Nope. Nope nope nope. You step away from him, back crashing into your door. Sweet sweet salvation. Maybe if you escape before he can think up a retaliation, you’ll get off scot-free. Your hand finds the doorknob, scrambling to turn it and open the door behind you. You almost fall backwards, Lucifer’s hand shooting out to catch your shoulder and hold you in place. 

“Okay-that-was-a-nice-dinner-thanks-Luci-bye-!” You say, all in one breath, and slip into your room as quickly as possible, letting his hand slide off of your arm. He remains there for a few moments after you slam the door, the sound echoing through the hallway. You hope you didn’t offend him too badly, but after a minute of listening to your thumping heart, you hear him do his patented ‘humans are very stupid’ hum and walk off, leaving you and your racing heart behind. Looks like you were right and he’s just decided to let it go for now.

As for poor Lucifer, there was a completely different understanding of what just happened. He'd been enjoying the hug (but too proud to admit it) and really had no idea why you suddenly lost your cool and _very_ rudely slammed the door in his face. Just when he was about to ask himself into your room, too. A shame, a nice night to yourselves, now gone forever. So he straightened his tie and convinced himself he was chafed at the shortening of his name and not the painful sting of rejection.


	2. Mammon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so mammon is confirmed to not have a tail in canon but that was after i wrote this chapter and fuck rewriting stuff. In other words, That Sign Can’t Stop Me Because I Can’t Read  
> (because i've gotten several comments saying i am incorrect, i refer you to the sign that cannot stop me because i can't read: https://twitter.com/ReinDevildom/status/1249974788283564034 )

Honestly, that party was a major success. You danced with all of your friends, ate some good food, met some new demons who were much friendlier than you anticipated, and Diavolo even arranged some party games. You never expected to hit a pinata in hell, but now you have. Life is good.

Not to mention, you learned that Mammon has a  _ tail. _ You can’t believe you’ve never noticed, but there it was, accidentally slapping you in the leg when you went to spin his poor blindfolded form around so he could pin the tail on the… weird demonic not-a-donkey. Although, to be fair, he’s only ever been in his demon form around you a couple of times (and the fact that he declares any place he goes to in said form as a tits-out function is  _ very _ distracting), and he was facing you pretty much the whole time. Giving you those big doe eyes.

Speaking of doe eyes…

“Pleaaaaaaaaaaase!? I’ll be your best friend.”

“Ugh, no!”

“Please-please-please-please!”

Mammon sighs, looking away from your big puppy dog eyes. “Why do you want me to do it so badly, huh? You wanna ogle the great Mammon that much?”

You tug on his jacket some more, hopping up and down on your heels. “Come on. I just wanna see your tail. Please transform back? For me?” You bat your eyelashes at him as best you can.

Mammon glares at you. His face is slowly turning pinker and pinker, and you know you’ve almost broken down his resolve. “No way. You’re crazy, probably would pull on it or somethin’.”

“Come on. Would I do that?” You let go of his jacket and reach up to pat his silvery head gently. “I’d never hurt you, Mammon,” you coo, carding your fingers through his hair right where his horns would be. He sighs blissfully and leans into it for just a moment before spluttering and shoving your hand away.

“Hell yeah you would! Remember that time you spent twenty minutes chasing me around the kitchen trying to spank me? Nuh uh. You’ve got a fixation on people’s butts.”

You grin, already moving your hand back to his hair. “What can I say, the great and powerful Mammon has got some choice buns.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing. His face is scarlet. “But that’s not what I’m after. I just wanna see it!” Mammon huffs, this time letting you continue petting him. Time for the final nail in the coffin.

You bring your other hand up to his cheek, turning his face to force him to look at you. You drop your voice into a sweet honey whisper, giving him the softest smile you can.

“Please~? It would make me  _ real~ly _ happy~!”

Mammon swallows thickly, eyes widening. The poor demon looks like he’s going to have some sort of cardiac event. It takes him almost a whole minute to remember how to speak, and when he does his voice shakes like gelatin.

“... Okay, f-fine.”

Hook, line, and sinker. He pushes you away, brushing his fingers through his hair to fix it. You rub your hands together, eager to see him shift into his more authentic form. And shift he does, horns and wings slowly materializing and clothing swapping out for shockingly revealing leather. Once he’s completely changed, he crosses his arms and turns his back to you so you can see his little demon tail waving slightly behind him. It’s surprisingly adorable considering it’s attached to an embodiment of greed and evil.

“There. Happy?” Mammon grumbles in his ‘I’m pretending to be really annoyed but I’m actually just really flustered’ tone. You reach out and poke his back right between the wings, watching him jump slightly.

“Ecstatic.” And you are. Although not entirely because of the tail thing. Your eyes trace the chalky white lines that litter his torso, not paying attention to the fact that he’s turned around and is now glaring at you.

“... Hey. Hey!” He waves his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your admiration of his very scantily clad torso. “Quit starin’ at me like that. It’s weird.” He crosses his arms over his chest, crinkling the leather of his studded jacket.

You shake your head, hoping to clear out all of the suddenly not very innocent thoughts you’re having. It doesn’t work completely, but now you can actually look Mammon in the eye. “Sorry. I think I zoned out there for a moment.”

He snorts, wings shifting. “Yeah, whatever. You’ve stared at me plenty. That all you wanted?” He’s almost managing to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but you know Mammon well enough by now to realize that his greed doesn’t stop at money.

“Yeah, for now.” You let your voice go all sweet and silky again. “Thank you, Mammon~.” Knowing he can’t resist, you hold out your arms. “Hug?”

Mammon makes a big show of rolling his eyes and scoffing at the pathetic human who wants to rub their hands all over his illustrious form, but ultimately gives in just like you expected.

Damn, he’s so  _ warm _ . You tighten your arms around him, snuggling into his shoulder. Okay, scratch that. The studs on his jacket are sharp as fuck, your cheek now hurts. You shift to snuggle into his chest instead, pressing your face against the warm bare skin. And oh my God, you are in heaven. Perhaps not literally, but. You wonder if this fallen angel still has a piece of divinity in him. Mammon softens, wings curling around you just a bit.

Okay, you can’t resist. You press your lips to the center of his chest, inhaling sharply. Mammon gasps quietly (interesting), and then a loud and frankly hilarious farty noise fills the room. Quickly followed by him squealing in indignant confusion and you cackling madly.

Mammon shoves you off of him, placing his hands over where you blew a raspberry on his chest. The great Mammon, Avatar of Greed and Second Ruler Of Hell, is blushing furiously and practically making an actual keysmash with his mouth, like so: AILURGLIERGLIEGH. Honestly, he’s so easy to rile up. You wipe a tear from your eye, nearly doubled over.

“Wh- what the hell!” He quickly shifts back to his normal, human-like form. Most likely trying to avoid you assaulting his poor bare chest again, considering the protective way he crosses his arms over himself. You calm down enough for only the occasional hysterical giggle, covering your mouth. If this was a bad fanfiction, your eyes would be ‘shining with mirth’. But it isn’t, so they’re glimmering with humor.

“Okay, okay. Heh. Sorry, Mammon.” You bust out giggling again. “I just- I just couldn’t help myself.” Taking a deep breath, you look at him very seriously. He is, understandably, glaring at you suspiciously (and rubbing his chest). “I promise I’ll never motorboat you  _ without your permission _ again.”


	3. Leviathan

Levi is a water serpent. It’s a little bit of knowledge that sits in the back of your head and only peeks out when he does something particularly aqua-oriented (like that one time you watched him literally climb into Henry 2.0’s massive aquarium to retrieve something Mammon threw in there as a prank). So it should be no surprise that he likes swimming.

Turns out, there’s a pool in the RAD grounds, and after much stuttering around and hand wringing and adorable blushing, he asked you to join him. And any opportunity to get the shut in to willingly leave the house and get some fresh air is a good one, so you agreed.

Cue a small shopping spree with Asmo to find you a bathing suit, since you arrived in the Devildom without one. And some distress on your part, because as far as Asmo is concerned the only bathing suit you should be wearing is made entirely of string. Fortunately, you managed to convince him to just let you pick.

And so here you are, walking tragically barefoot (Majolish was sold out of designer sandals, Asmo refused to buy anything less for you. And refused to let you purchase them for yourself. You think he might have been doing it on purpose as revenge for not getting the g-string, because you saw his eyes light up upon seeing a shimmering mauve pair of flip flops.) alongside the pool. Levi, who is predictably covered up with a baggy t-shirt (which has “Oppai” written across it) is twitching and fidgeting in nervous excitement.

You wonder why he asked you here. He hasn’t said two words since you set out.

Regardless of his original reasons, he perks up visibly when you sit down on the shallow end of the pool and dip your foot in, testing the water’s temperature. It’s much warmer than you expected considering the lack of sunlight in the Devildom. You carefully sink your legs in, swinging them in the water childishly, and he plops down next to you and copies your movements.

“Y’know,” you start, nudging Levi’s shoulder. “I hope this stuff isn’t secretly acid that’s gonna burn my puny human flesh off.” You splash some up at him, leaving a nice dark patch on his oppai shirt. “Considering the molten gold rivers and lava saunas I’ve heard about.”

He laughs, relaxing at your casual tone. “This would be way cooler if there were sakura trees here,” Levi says, kicking his feet (and sending arcs of water careening through the air). “Like in that anime where they have a pool and it’s always got the petals sitting on the water and stuff.”

“Yeah, but I bet it’d be a bitch to clean up. This is a community pool, right?” You look around, noting a suspicious lack of community at this particular pool. “They already got enough to deal with. The number of people who piss in these things is off the charts.”

The horrified look on Levi’s face is priceless, and you can’t help but double over in laughter, nearly going face first into the pool. He doesn’t even make a move to save you, the jerk, just quickly pulling his feet out of the water and making grossed out noises.

“Eww! Cursed knowledge, (_)! Cursed knowledge!” He really sounds disgusted, but you don’t feel bad.

“Serves you right for telling me about how fish are constantly pooping. I can never look Henry in the eye again.” You push his shoulder, careful not to accidentally dunk him into the pool. “And don’t be so dramatic. I’ve seen you literally inside his fish tank. Besides, aren’t you, like, some kind of ocean demon? The ocean is  _ way _ nastier than any pool.”

He rolls his eyes, wrinkling his nose up at the pool. You grin and stand up. “Here. Gimme your stuff, I’ll put it on the table so it doesn’t get wet. I’m not coming all the way out here and not swimming.”

He hands you his D.D.D. and some other assorted things, including a handheld game, and you walk over to put everything on a table, draping a towel over it for extra protection. Behind you, you hear Levi grumble to himself and plunk his feet back in the water. Once you finish arranging everything, you turn to see him leaning back on his hands, eyes closed.

Perfect.

You creep over to him, carefully making sure your footsteps are quiet on the damp ground. Now just a short distance from him, you kneel down behind him. (Thankfully your knees are feeling just as mischievous as you and do not make loud old man joint cracks to alert him to your presence.)

“BOO!”

“AUGH!”

**_SPLASH!!!_ **

Levi emerges from the water gracelessly and flips his now sopping bangs out of his face, only to see you cackling madly like some sort of particularly clownish hyena. And pointing at him. And then falling on your ass because his offended look and indignant shout of your name is just. Too. Damn. Funny.

“Ahahaha! Oh man, you should see yourself. You look so pissed off, oh my god.” You snicker, watching him paddle back to the wall and pull himself up. His hand is reaching for your ankle.

Oh shit.

You shriek as he drags you into the water with him, feeling it rush around your head and into your mouth. Huh. It’s a saltwater pool. Interesting. Fortunately, this is fanfiction, so any fears of drowning you might have in real life aren’t applicable here. You cling to Levi, pulling yourself up against him and glaring at him as angrily as you can muster while looking like a wet rat.

“Ha-ha,” He says mockingly, imitating your voice terribly. “You look so pissed off.”

At least you got him to leave the house. Look on the bright side, (_). Look on the bright side.

His shirt is clinging wetly to him now, 

Wait a second.

“When the hell did you get so buff, what the fuck?” You press your hand to his chest, feeling the shockingly solid muscle he usually keeps carefully wrapped up. The change in him is instant, from smug and self-satisfied to blushing violently and trying to push you away in embarrassment. Undeterred, you stand up properly and run your hands over his shoulders, wondering how you could’ve missed this. “Holy shit, dude.”

“Wh-what are you doing?!” he squeaks. As if it’s not obvious that you’re feeling him up. Get with the program, Levi. Realizing you’re shamelessly groping the poor man, you remove your hand from his chest with some regret. Mostly regret for not getting him in a wet shirt sooner.

“Sorry. You want me to stop?” You kind of hope the answer is no.

“I. I didn’t say that! Wait, no, get off of me. Wait- Agh! Don’t!” He looks like his head is about to explode, so you carefully let go and step away from him.

“Okay, okay. I’m done.” You hold your hands up to show him that you’re not about to put your dirty normie paws all over him again, and he blushes more, looking away. A shame, really. It breaks your rotten little heart to let this opportunity of dude-groping go to waste, but what can you-

“Aaah. I didn’t. I didn’t mean ‘don’t touch me’! I mean. Uh.” He covers his face with his hands, voice muffled. “I mean don’t- Don’t stop.”

“Oh.” You feel a wicked grin coming on. You think you might have a problem. “Ohhh. My my, Levi. How unexpected.” You know you’re tempting fate, but you can’t help but bully him a little bit. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him tense up. He keeps his hands over his face, whimpering slightly when you touch him.

You can’t resist. You shove your face into his chest and blow the biggest raspberry you can, feeling immense satisfaction at the horrible flatulent sound it makes against his wet shirt.

“Okay! I changed my mind! Get away from me!” He shoves you off of him and is off like a shot, almost all the way across the pool by the time you regain your balance and look around to find him.

It’s at that moment you remember that he’s a sea serpent. And his swimming skills are quite impressive, especially when fleeing from a maniacal human who will tease him for this whole situation for months to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little longer than I meant because of the set up, but I figure it makes up for the lack of Levi content in my most recently published fic. We’ll go with that.


	4. Satan

Your brain is melting. It has to be. You’re shocked you can’t feel it oozing disgustingly out of your ears, but you supposed fried neurons can’t feel anything. You blink blearily at the pages in front of you, not paying even a lick of attention to Satan’s smooth voice explaining, for the twelfth time, how some ancient human alchemist turned lead to gold except they didn’t  _ actually _ turn it into gold, they just turned it into something that looked like gold, by doing this and that and ‘you should know this, it’s human history, it’s the one subject you shouldn’t be failing’ blah blah blah you feel like you’re going to die.

You rub the back of your neck, craning it to the side and feeling it pop with deep satisfaction. Satan scowls at you, then sighs and looks over at the clock. 2:47 AM.

“(_), you have to know this stuff. If you fail this quiz-”

“I know, I know.” You groan and drop your head down onto the book in front of you, hoping in the back of your mind that the information will somehow seep through your skull and into your brain. God, that would be amazing. “Ughhh. Please kill me. I don’t even feel like a real person anymore. I’m a goo monster. You turned me into a goo monster, Satan. With your dumb alchemy.”

Satan scoffs, probably rolling his eyes, and scoots his chair closer so he can try and pry you off of the table. “You’re not a goo monster.” You grumble blearily. “Come on, sit up. We need to finish studying.”

You don’t dignify that heresy with a response.

“(_).”

Silence.

“(_)!”

His voice is too loud, so you lift your arm up and paw at his face awkwardly for a moment before finding his mouth and covering it with your hand. “Shhh. We’re in a library.”

He remains very quiet for a moment, reaching up and brushing his fingers over your wrist like he wants to grab it and (probably) shove you away. You feel him sigh very softly into your palm before he pulls away from you and carefully tugs the book out from under your head.

“Noooo. I was gonna try osmosis learning.” You know your speech is slurred with fatigue, and you’re not really making any sense, but you don’t care at the moment. All you care about right now is what show is scheduled on the insides of your eyelids.

Satan, ever knowledgeable, has to correct you. “Osmosis is for fluids,” he mumbles, closing the book and setting it on the ever growing stack beside him. “And I don’t think your skull counts as a semipermeable membrane.”

You turn your head just enough to glare at him for using such big words when you’re so tired. “Shut up, nerd.” You’re going to regret that in the morning, you think blankly to yourself. When did you grow the guts to insult Literal Satan?

He chuckles, smiling way too brightly for this time of night. “Okay, okay. You can take a break.” He pats your head softly, and you can feel yourself melting into the touch. You now understand why all of these sweet and wonderful brothers love getting you to pet them so much.

You sniff, shuffling yourself over to lean on him and snuggle into his shoulder. Mm. Satan warm. Comfy. And not squirmy like Levi.

He swallows sharply, awkwardly holding his hand over you like he can’t figure out what to do. “(_)?”

“Shhhhh.” You place your fingers over his mouth again. “Break time. We can learn alchemy later.” You feel your hand slip down from his face and before you know it, you’re unconscious.

The world fades in and out, and you’re aware of several things that could be simultaneous or hours apart. Satan’s jacket placed around your shoulders, the soft texture of his sweater on your cheek, a hand running over your hair. At some point he shifts, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and squeeze tightly (you barely register a quiet chuckle) before dozing back off.

The next thing you’re fully aware of is two lowered voices, one from alarmingly close by and another a short distance away. You ignore them, instead burying your face deeper into the firm pillow beneath you and sighing contentedly. Smells like books. The pillow shifts and an arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you closer and, unfortunately, waking you up enough for lucidity.

Somehow, it took you this long to realize that the ‘pillow’ is actually someone’s chest. The memories of the study session hit you like a brick, and you are suddenly faced with that knowledge that you’re currently snuggled up  _ very _ closely to Satan while Lucifer (quietly) lectures him on letting you fall asleep in the library when you should be studying. By the sound of it, neither of them have realized you’re awake, which is just fine by you.

Lucifer sighs, undoubtedly pinching the bridge of his nose or crossing his arms. “You should have realized they were so tired. The exam is in a week, I don’t think a single night sleeping in their own bed would make them fail.” You crack an eye open to peek up at him, and sure enough, he’s got his arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face. 

Aww, that’s sweet. He’s worried about you.

“Besides,” Lucifer continues, raising an eyebrow. You close your eyes. “(_) is fragile compared to us.”

Okay, rude much? You’re suddenly tempted to show him exactly how not-fragile you are, since he’s obviously forgotten about your palm of fury, but Satan makes an offended scoff for you and speaks up.

“I  _ know _ that,” he whispers harshly and definitely a little louder than intended, then looks down at you, chin bumping your head, to make sure he didn’t wake you. You mumble something incoherent and shift slightly, hoping to imitate your unconscious self convincingly. They both stay silent for a moment, then Satan looks back up at Lucifer. “I just know how anxious they were about this quiz. If you’re so sure you would’ve handled this-” you feel him move, probably gesturing to you- “better, then why did you tell  _ me _ to tutor them?”

Yeah, you tell that smug son of a deity, Satan. Roast his ass.

Lucifer scoffs, and you hear the very distinct sound of his fancy shoes turn on their heels and stomp out, loud enough that it definitely would have woken you anyway. Sigh. Looks like the jig is up, so you lift your head up and squint up at Satan. Who sighs and unwinds his arm from around you, looking sheepish.

“... Have a nice nap?” He smiles, bright and sunny and very convincing as only his fakest smiles are. “Ready to get back to work?”

You drop your head back down, wincing slightly as it makes hard contact with his collarbone. “Ugh, I should’ve stayed asleep.” Hoping he hadn’t noticed your charade, you bury your nose back into his sweater. “Who was that?”

Satan huffs, tipping his head back. “Lucifer. Being Lucifer.” He chuckles humorlessly. “You know how he is, always convinced he can do everything better than anyone else.”

Oh no, you’re not going to let this turn into a weird brotherly feud like so many other things do. You snort, careful not to agree or disagree. Distraction time.

You tug down the collar of his sweater, ignoring his confused noises. Damn him for wearing so many layers. Either way, you’ve got a bit more access now. So you do what you do best, and shove your face into that demonic chest (hey, that rhymes). He sputters, then… Giggles. Satan just giggled. You made Satan giggle. That is a concept you never in a million years thought would happen. Apparently he’s ticklish. You find that you’re falling into another pattern of audacious behavior.

He pushes you away, unable to protest through his laughter. You snicker, scooting back into your own chair (having somehow ended up practically draped on top of him) and stretching your arms up above your head. He makes a shockingly good bed, and you feel quite rested despite having only been asleep on him for…

Actually, how long were you napping on the poor guy? You check the clock.

7:53 AM.

Five hours. You spent five hours all cuddled up to Satan, and he didn’t complain even a little bit. You’d feel bad if that didn’t warm the desiccated fragments of your ass-slapping, chest-groping soul.

“Shit, man. You should’ve woken me up.”

And back to work you go, sighing and opening up the hated textbooks to continue your studies.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m soft for satan ok let me hUG


	5. Asmodeus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know anything about skincare. *dabs so hard I fly off into space*

Self care night with Asmo is always both a blessing and a curse. Fitting, considering his demonic nature. He’s very thorough when it comes to taking care of his skin and hair, and is more than happy to pass along methods, some of which work perfectly, and some that have some unintended consequences on your different physiology. Only once has there been a serious incident, where it turned out that one of his exfoliating scrubs is… Let’s say, harsher than recommended for human skin. You will never forgive him for the mild chemical burns. The smell was just like grandma’s roasted chicken.

You refuse to talk about that night to anyone, even Asmo. He seems content to follow suit.

Regardless of any qualms you might have had about lounging around with the handsy demon in nothing but a robe and a seaweed face mask (and the hairless patch that you hope will go back to normal soon), you find you’ve come to really enjoy these nights with him. Very soothing. He’d even promised to make sure that every single product he put near your  _ precious _ skin (his words, not yours) was completely safe for you, free of any allergens, sulfates, highly corrosive acids, or other unsavory ingredients. Once all of the jitteriness over potentially melting your skin off was gone, he resumed being extremely excited to treat you to a spa night every week.  _ Extremely _ excited.

Today is no different, as he gently pushes you down onto his bed (looking much more delighted than he should) and goes off to rummage through his drawer of cosmetics, guaranteed (_)-safe.. You get comfortable, scooting up by his fluffy silken pillow and picking at a thread on the plush robe he generously let you borrow, even having let you sneak into his bathroom to change and wash your face quickly. Although, he  _ had _ been quite amused at your refusal to get naked in front of him, stating that you were adorably shy.

Uh huh. Sure.

There’s soft clinking noises as Asmo bumps the drawer closed with his hip, balancing a small selection of jars and bottles in his arms precariously. He turns to grab a brush or two and then practically prances over to you, sliding onto the bed with unnerving smoothness. He’s probably quite practiced.

“So, (_). Are you ready for some relaxation?” He asks cheerily, pushing his fringe behind his ear and picking up a jar.

You snort. “You know me, Asmo. I’m never relaxed.” You watch him open the jar and dab one of the brushes in, bringing it up to your face.

Asmo laughs softly, holding you in place when you flinch back from the very cold face cream. “Right, right. Always up to something, aren’t you?” He sounds very approving, a devilish glint in his eyes.

You think you know where this is going. Damn him for being so good at knowing when you’re back on your bullshit. You wonder if it’s some sort of demonic power of his. Narrowing your eyes at him, you make a point of not rising to the bait.

He rolls his eyes, dabbing the last of your face with the cream. “Let that sit for ten minutes, okay?” He gives you a very stern look. “Do  _ NOT _ touch it.”

You nod, knowing better than to incur his wrath. For now, at least. Asmo smiles prettily and turns away, missing you sticking out your tongue behind his back. Probably for the best. Knowing him, he might take it as an invitation to stick  _ his _ tongue into some interesting places. Regardless, you watch him mess around for a few minutes, doing something (you’re not sure what, you don’t recognize the products he’s using) to his hair that you’re sure will make it even more luscious and shiny than it is naturally and chattering away about some of the more colorful students at RAD and a very nice scarf he saw at Majolish the other day that he thinks would suit your skin tone marvelously and a million other things that make you wonder if demons have to breathe because damn can he just keep. Fucking. Talking. It is honestly impressive.

Only when he turns back to you to check on your face do you notice that his robe has somehow become untied, leaving an unbelievably smooth expanse of skin showing. You glance down. Thank God, he’s at least wearing underwear for once. You look back up. Asmo scoots in very close, sitting on his ankles and producing a small cloth to start wiping up your face. As far as you can tell, he hasn’t noticed you staring at his chest, so you just go ahead and stare more.

Don’t give in, (_). Don’t do it. You know you’ll regret it. Remember the hentai squeal when he cajoled you into slapping his ass? This will be a thousand times worse.

Don’t do it.

…

You don’t do it, clenching your jaw and balling your hands into tight fists (and wrinkling his beautiful satiny sheets in the process, but you’re sure they’ve seen worse). Asmo hums cheerfully, wiping the last of the sweet smelling face cream off of your nose and cooing at how soft your skin is once again. He leans in, calling your name with a sweet voice that immediately lets you know he’s caught on to you gaping at his mostly unclothed torso.

“(_)~? Is something wrong~?” His tone suggests he knows exactly what is wrong. Or so he may think.

Fuck it.

You wrap your arms around his waist, ignoring the absolutely delighted sound he makes, and pull him as close to you as possible. Not thinking of any potential consequences, you bury your face into his (surprisingly not as flat and scrawny as it looks) chest, blowing a huge and very very loud raspberry on his sternum. Asmo squeals loudly, hand flying to your shoulder, not sure if he wants to shove you away in shock or pull you closer. Typical Asmo. You make the decision for him, letting go and pushing him off of you with just enough force for him to hopefully get the hint that you are not, in fact, trying to jump his bones.

He looks at you for a few seconds, expression unreadable. Then a wide, heated smirk spreads across his face and he sits back up. Oh no, you think you know where this is going. I warned you.

“My, my. If I’d know you were that desperate to put your mouth all over me, I’d invite you to my room more often.” In a flash, he’s right up next to you again (how did he move so fast) and practically purring. You’re completely sure the robe is hanging open wider, slipping down his shoulders. You’re even more sure that he somehow did that on purpose. Shit. You lean away from him, grabbing one of the smaller pillows he keeps strewn decoratively across his bed and whacking him in the shoulder with it before he can get any closer.

“Nuh-uh. You know I was just playing around.” Asmo’s face falls, pouty and pitiful. You raise an eyebrow at his puppy dog eyes, unimpressed. “Spa night, remember? Relaxation.” He pouts even harder, sticking his lower lip out. “No.”

He sighs, the pout crumbling into his normal cheeky look as he gets out of your personal space. “Fine, fine. Worth a shot, at least.” He pulls the robe back onto his shoulders and closes it over his chest, tying it firmly closed. “Do you wanna help me paint my nails?” He switches gears fast.

You nod. Anything to distract him from trying to climb all over you again, you’re not sure you could handle that twice in one night.

“Great! I was thinking a nice salmon pink and seafoam green this time.”


	6. Beelzebub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a brief reference (like seriously, it’s just one line) to the Garden pop quiz event.

Beelzebub is very sweet. Not exactly something you expected before you arrived in the Devildom for the first time, and still not something you expected upon meeting him for the first time. Especially with his scowl and his assurance that he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t literally eat you. You’d like to think your relationship with him has advanced to the point where that’s not an issue, though.

Which is quite fortunate, because you’re on a mission once again. You’ve been giving a lot of attention to some of the older members of the House (your heart still skips a beat when you think about Satan being kind enough to let you nap on him), but there’s a problem with that. You don’t want to practice preferential treatment with your dear sweet housemates, lest one or more of them get jealous. They’re very good at that. So, for the sake of the perfectly balanced dynamic between your little squad you’ve decided that it’s your responsibility- nay, your  _ obligation _ \- to bury your face in Beel’s muscular chest and make dumb fart noises into it. For the sake of the group. Obviously. This is a sacrifice you’re making. In the words of the great Spock, ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’.

Okay, it’s because you want to get your mischievous little paws all over all of these hot demons (and an angel and human). But you’re not going to admit that to anyone but yourself. You think Mammon’s head might explode if he manages to hear you, and you’re not sure how good his hearing is.

Still, the point still stands. You are  _ fairly _ confident that Beel isn’t gonna try and chew your arm off with what you’re about to do. You steel yourself, looking up and letting your eyes follow him around the track. He’d invited you to watch him train for… Whatever sport he plays, which apparently gets you a front row seat to a show that involves a good few eyefuls of Beel stretching, running, fanning himself with his sleeveless shirt (hot), drinking from a water bottle while sweat pours down his face and shoulders (also hot), and wiping said sweat off with a towel and smiling at you warmly (still somehow very hot). At least there’s no sun to squint through, but today is uncomfortably warm and muggy compared to what you’re used to in the ancient but still air conditioned mansion you live in currently.

Sighing, you refocus on Beelzebub, noticing that he’s almost back to you. He speeds up, forcing you to scramble to grab the battered old stopwatch and click the button on it as his foot crosses the crude line you’d drawn in the gravel for him. Writing down his time, you grin.

“Nice job. Shaved off four whole seconds.” You look up at him just as he stops in front of you, panting slightly (you ignore his shifting chest as much as you can) and reaching for his bottle. Feeling helpful, you hand it up to him and watch him suck the whole thing down in an instant, the flimsy single-use plastic crunching loudly under his hands.

You need to buy this dude a hydroflask or something. Honestly. The thought is chased from your head when he chucks the now very thoroughly crushed bottle the the nearest trash can (which is actually some distance away), perking up when it bounces off the edge and sinks into the small mound of garbage at the bottom.

“Cobby.”

… “What?”

“Cobby. That’s what you’re supposed to say when you do that, right?” He points with his thumb at the trash can. You snort.

“It’s  _ Kobe _ . But close enough. I mean, you guys have slightly different versions of everything else anyway.” Like Deviltube and Devilgram and plenty of other things. You wonder which world is plagiarizing which. Technically humans have been around a bit longer than demons on a grand scale, so you decide that the Devildom is the guilty party. Beel shrugs and pats your head (very sweet), grabbing his towel and scrubbing his face down with it.

Once he’s satisfied with his moisture level, he sits down on the ground in front of you and sets his chin on your knee, peering at the small notebook you’ve been recording his times in. You ignore the solid sharpness of his mandible digging into your leg and show him the notebook you hastily scribbled all of his times into. His face takes on that very specific look he gets when he’s thinking something through and trying to ignore the burning hollowness in his stomach, so you grab the small baggie of granola bars you brought with you and wave it in front of his face. His eyes light up instantly and he grabs it, unwrapping one and stuffing it into his face in record time.

“Aw, come on dude! You’re getting crumbs on my pants, what the fuck.” You push at his shoulder, trying to get him off of you long enough to finish eating. “If I get covered in demonic ants that breathe fire or some shit, it’s your fault.”

Beel grunts incoherently, brushing the crumbs off your leg and pulling himself up onto the bench next to you. He swings one leg over so he can turn to face you and swallows the hopefully fully chewed granola bar, absently wiping the bits off of his face. “Sorry.” He does not look particularly sorry, already working on the next bar. Still, you can’t stay mad at him for long.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.” You show him the notebook again, letting him take it from you and look it over. “So last time you shaved off three seconds and this time you shaved off four. Getting better.” Not that you were paying too much attention to his pacing. But you’re not about to just tell him outright that you were just staring at his ass the whole time he was within your line of sight. That would be silly. And you’re certainly not silly. Definitely not.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Beel chews and swallows thoughtfully. Or maybe he just chews and swallows normally. They’re probably the same thing with him. He sets the notebook down and rolls his shoulders, looking up at the unnaturally huge moon that dips shyly behind the horizon. Once again you have to remind yourself that this is a sacrifice and you totally do not want to touch his chest just for the sake of it.

You clear your throat. “So, happy with your improvement?”

Beel smiles broadly at you, nodding happily. Painfully adorable. “Yeah, you’ve really been helping me. Thanks, (_). I owe you one.”

Aww. “Aww. You’re sweet.” You poke his stomach. “Must be all that sugar you eat. But you don’t owe me nothing. I’m glad to help.” Partially because of the chance to ogle him. Let’s ignore that part. Beel looks even more pleased, sitting up straight and leaning over to you. For a brief moment you’re unsure what to do and then his arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly.

You hug back, pushing down your confusion. A sweet moment, to be sure, but the cursed and rotten (and very slightly nasty) part of your brain can’t help but remind you that this is a perfect opportunity to make your best imitation of an old Tohatsu outboard engine.

Already mourning the hug, you bring your hands up to his chest and carefully push him back a tad, noting his pectoral muscles squish and shift under your fingers. Oh my. What harm could taking another moment to savor this do? You press your hands into his chest harder ( _ Dang _ , how many push ups has he done to get it like this?), not looking up to check his reaction. He doesn’t try to move away at least, so you assume he’s fine with what you’re doing. Let’s not think about that too hard.

You’re getting distracted. No time like the present, especially when you’ve been given such a perfect chance. In one swift movement you tug down the loose collar of his sweat-damp tank top and press your face into the middle of his chest. He makes a quiet grunt of surprise, and you’re sure that if you could see his face it’s be painted a soft pink. If only he knew what atrocities you plan on committing on him. Well, he will in a moment. You suck in as much air as you can, feeling him tense up.

With a sharp  **_PBLTHBLBLTHBLB-THL-BL-PTH_ ** , you blow all of your breath onto his skin. The tail end of the noise is broken up by your now breathless snickering, still groping Beel’s chest with one hand and holding his shirt out of the way with the other. Finally bringing yourself to look at his face, you find his reaction is both expected and unexpected. He doesn’t look angry, which is fitting. Very rarely have you seen him properly angry, and it’s very recognizable when it happens. He  _ does _ , however, look hungry. And not in the normal way. Has it gotten hotter out here? Damn it, you were trying to be funny.

Oh boy, what have you gotten yourself into this time? You release his shirt, patting it back into place. After a single moment’s hesitation, you also let go of his chest. Truly a sad day, but what can you do?

“Sorry, bud. Couldn’t resist.” Hopefully your casual and friendly tone will cool down the sudden burning look he’s got. He seems to snap out of whatever spiral of thoughts overtook him, arms slipping away to rest his hands on his knees very carefully. He looks away, reaching back for the baggie of food you’d given him.

What was it that he said that one night, deep in the forest? Something about how you shouldn’t try and tempt him, or you’ll regret it. Maybe you should be more careful.

Nah. Fuck being careful. You’re here to cause chaos.


	7. Belphegor

Speaking of causing chaos, you’ve put that on hold for a few hours. Can’t go out throwing pies in people’s faces and slapping the ass of the demon prince if you’re unconscious. You’ll just have to make up for it when you get up. Though, it’s hard to tell when that’ll be, considering the fluffy bovine tail curled around you and the boy it’s attached to don’t seem to be planning on releasing you any time soon. At least, judging by the way Belphie’s tail curls even tighter around your waist when you shift around.

“(_),” Belphie’s voice is gravelly from sleep and softer than usual. He’d come into your room in the middle of the day wrapped in a blanket and declared he was here for naptime, then claimed about eighty percent of your bed and gotten comfortable. Which apparently included letting his tail and horns free. Why you agreed still escapes you, but you’re sure it has something to do with some kind of sleepy powers he must have.

Okay, there’s a slight chance it was actually because you didn’t fucking feel like staring at the alchemy textbook that’d been sitting on your lap for the past three hours and trying to figure out how exactly one gets ‘powdered dragon fire’. You think it must be some kind of plant or mineral and not actual dragon fire somehow made solid enough to be crushed into a powder. Anything’s better than contemplating the nature of alchemical reagents.

“What?”

“Stop squirming.” He buries his face back into your shoulder, the tip of his curly horn knocking against your collarbone. Ouch.

You huff, pushing his head away from you (he makes an offended sound that you can almost call a moo, which you would laugh at if you weren’t thinking about how uncomfortable you are right now) and wriggling away from him. “I can’t help it. It’s boiling in here.” You poke the horseshoe on his jacket. “And this thing keeps jabbing me in the arm. How are you even comfortable like that?”

He opens his eyes, scowling at you. You’re unimpressed, despite everything. “Stop being a baby and just go to sleep.” A hand shimmies under you and wraps around your back, pulling you back to him so he can snuggle up to you. “It’s not even hot in here.”

“Says the actual demon.” You push him away again. This time it’s definitely a moo. “I’ve seen you stick your hand in an oven before.” You peek out at your fancy clock (gifted to you by Barbatos, the joke only registering a week later), helpfully displaying the temperature in the room on it’s digital red screen in three different units. 32 Celsius, 90 Farenheit, 24 Rømer. The fact that the clock also displays Rømer units makes you think that Hell has frozen over at least once and then thawed to the mythical burning fire people hear about in church. Jesus Christ. It must be even hotter under the thick blanket Belphie very unhelpfully provided you with. Your shirt is sticking to you in sweat. Fuck the Devildom’s weather, honestly.

You toss the blanket off of you and sit up, Belphie following you up to avoid his tail getting yanked in the process. He is not happy, but at least you no longer feel like you’re going to spontaneously melt into a human puddle. Gross.

He grumbles, you can’t quite catch it but you do manage to get the impression that he’s bitching about how ‘fragile’ your human physiology is and that all he wanted to do was take a nap, dammit. “Then go turn down the thermostat.”

“Nuh uh. You do it. You’re the one who wants to sleep with me anyway.  _ I _ was  _ studying _ , cow man.”

He levels a flat look at you, tail tip flicking irritably. “Too much effort. You do it. You’re the one complaining about it being hot.”

… This is going nowhere. It’s time to bring out the best persuasion tactic you have. Well, the second best. It’s too hot for tickling right now, maybe you can try that later. (‘Snail Daddy,’ you may ask, ‘Is that foreshadowing for the next installment?’ The answer is yes. Now hush up and read.)

You sigh, scrunching up your nose and leaning against his shoulder. Crossing your arms, you make sure to ‘accidentally’ brush your hand up against his tail, stroking the soft fur. “Then I guess it’s not happening. Lucifer’d kill me if he saw me cranking up the heating bill.”

Belphie stays perfectly statue still for a moment before frowning and tugging your hand away from his furry tail. He doesn’t unwrap it from around you, curiously enough. “That’s not going to work. I’m literally the one who invented that trick, you can’t use it against me.”

Damn. Third best persuasion tactic, then. “Okay, fine. If you go do it I’ll do all of your Human World History homework for the whole week. I did a project on this unit in high school, I know the material.” When it comes to demons, if all else fails, appeal to the Sin. And in this case, give Belphie more opportunities to be lazy.

He squints at you, searching you for any lies. “Hm…” His tail flicks again. “What if the teacher notices it’s not my handwriting?”

You scoff, pulling away from him and placing a hand on your chest dramatically. “Insulting. You think  _ I _ , master of mischief, can’t forge someone’s handwriting? Hurtful, Belphie. Very hurtful. I would need to see some of your notes so I can do it convincingly, but I can.”

Belphegor snorts (for a split second you think of a snorting bull, and have to quickly stifle your laughter before he notices) and finally untangles himself from you, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I’ll do it if you make that two weeks.”

He’s good. But you’re better. “It’s a deal.  _ If  _ you also take off that goofy jacket. Those buckles are murder. Otherwise you get to explain to Asmo why my precious skin is all bruised and scratched up from them.” Belphie looks briefly horrified at the thought, probably thinking of that one time you got scratched by a cat when you were out at a kitty cafe with Satan and the chewing out the poor guy got for letting your gorgeous and flawless skin (which is laughable, but you suppose his standards are very different from yours) get damaged. All while Asmo gently placed a band aid over the tiny bleeding scratch and kissed it gently. You think it was definitely at least partially an excuse on Asmo’s part, but he really did look quite annoyed.

“Deal.” And like that, he’s gone off to find the thermostat and turn it down. You snicker victoriously at his retreating back (ignoring the bird he flips you on the way out) and lay back down to wait. Not too long later, the digits on your clock start counting down and the room becomes tangibly cooler. You’re wondering to yourself whether the temperature control here is magical in nature or if they just have really good gas services when Belphie comes back in, yawning.

“Nicely done, Belphie.” Perhaps a little too well done, it’s actually now slightly chillier than you’d like. Belphie shrugs, flopping down on your bed bonelessly and curling back up to you like a cat. You push him off you once again. “Nuh uh. Jacket off.”

With an “ughhhhh” and a roll of the eyes that makes you genuinely worry that they might fall out of his skull, Belphie sits up and tugs the jacket off. He doesn’t even bother with the buckles, just pulling it over his head and tossing it in a corner to grab later. Now that he’s stripped down to the blue shirt underneath and less likely to impale you with that damn horseshoe, you let him cuddle up and bury his nose in your hair. Much less chilly now.

You turn, burying your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around him. Curse him for being so hellishly comfy and tempting to snuggle with. You’re gonna have to get revenge for all the lost studying hours later. Or… Maybe you will cause a little chaos before you get up. It’s for the sake of the group after all. And your pride. Lucifer would be so pleased. Okay, no he probably wouldn’t but it’s the thought that counts.

Unhindered by the bulky jacket and scorching heat, you scoot even closer to him, pressing as tightly as you can. His shirt has a tight enough collar that you can’t pull it down, but you won’t let that stop you. You slide your hand under his shirt (don’t think about what you’re doing, don’t think about what you’re doing) and push it up inch by inch.

Of course, Belphie notices. How could he not? “(_)?” You ignore him. “(_), what are you doing. What _ \- fuck _ -” His tail lashes around, smacking one of the lanterns above your bed with a tremendous racket and almost sending it careening into the distance. Thought it doesn’t fly off of the branch it’s hanging off of, it shudders precariously for a moment. He’s getting harder to ignore, squirming around in your grip by this point. With a quick glance up to his face you see that he’s blushing more brightly than you’ve seen on him in any recent memory and staring down at you with wide eyes.

“Shush. You’re gonna break my room, and I don’t wanna have to borrow someone else’s again.” You push his shirt up all the way, fighting to not snicker at the uncharacteristic squawk that Belphie lets out. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ravish you or whatever.”

This does not seem to comfort him (rather the opposite, if the tiny frown that crosses his face is anything to go by), but he goes deathly still when you press your face into his skin and inhale. And becomes very much not still when you mouth-fart against his chest, wiggling away from you with a practically inhuman hiss. You grin, reaching out and tugging his shirt down over his stomach.

“There. Seven down. Revenge taken. Now we can nap.” You grab the blanket and toss it back over the both of you, turning your back to him and snuggling into your pillow with satisfaction. Belphegor remains silent for a moment, but you feel the blanket tug back and forth with the swishing of his tail. Clearly he’s not catatonic, at least.

You’ve almost drifted off when he speaks back up, arm looping over your side. “You’re back on your bullshit, aren’t you.”

You smile. “Never off of my bullshit, cow-man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the end of the main event. Let me know if you'd like me to do bonus chapters for the others again! If so, I'm open to suggestions.  
> Note: Luke's chapter is already planned out and will be completely child-friendly.  
> Please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed. I really love seeing them. Even if it's just a single heart emote, I promise I treasure each and every one!


	8. Bonus Chapter 1: Diavolo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for blood on this one, but it's very very minor. Let's just say Diavolo's chest is solid. Much like Beel's ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fucking trouble with this one, SHIT man I hope it's good

You’re beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Diavolo ( _ Lord _ Diavolo, a voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Lucifer reminds you) is a huge dork. A complete nerd. An absolute buffoon. Okay, maybe not an  _ absolute _ buffoon, but a little bit of one. At the very least he can be a bit goofy, but you can’t just go around insulting the Prince like that. At least, not out loud. So you settle for thinking privately about how much of a doofus he can be and keep your mouth shut. Which is probably a good thing, because if you opened your mouth you might let some laughter slip out and then Lucifer would probably punish you in some unpleasant way.

You shudder slightly. He already looks plenty annoyed, eyebrow ticking every time Diavolo asks another question, compliments him, or generally does anything that isn’t just sitting quietly and watching the shitty romcom someone (Asmo) had brought along. You’re almost tempted to rescue poor Lucifer somehow, but that would redirect Diavolo’s attention to you and you’re not sure you want to be grilled about the human world. Again. You know he means well, and he’s just curious, but still. You think you’ve told him about the Kardashians at least five times. He remains fascinated. He even came over one time to try and put together a MCU timeline with you. It took hours.

Speaking of coming over, you are the one doing so this time. Alongside a few of the brothers, of course, because you cannot get a single god damn minute alone to save your life at this point. At least Lucifer seems to have not noticed the shenanigans you’ve been up to, so he’s not been trying to keep you away from Diavolo. Score one more point to you for being subtle in your demon groping. Maybe you’ll actually get to touch some princely tiddies at this lovely… Well. While not exactly a slumber party, you’d been invited to the palace for what Diavolo had  _ called _ a slumber party. You’re unsure if it counts if it’s in the middle of the day and no one’s sleeping and there’s only about eight people here, half of whom are in casual clothes instead of pajamas.

Well, far be it from you to tell him what to call his own gatherings. At least it’s not another fancy ball. You think if Asmo gets another chance to dress you up in the next fortnight he may actually explode with glee, sending bright pink confetti and glitter and probably a few tropical fruit flavored condoms showering through the air and fluttering gently to the ground like some sort of particularly depraved New Year’s countdown parade in Times Square. And all over the gorgeous parlor you’re all gathered in, where poor Barbatos would have to clean it up. No, this time you were free to come in whatever you had on hand, and you can’t thank Diavolo enough for that.

Speaking of Diavolo, somehow he’d moved over to you in your musings and was now trying to get your attention. Blinking and looking away from the gratuitous smooching going on on the television, you look over at him.

He is smiling. This does not bode well. Still pretty cute, though.

“Hello, (_),” he says, looking down at your sitting form (tall bastard) and crossing his arms over the painfully adorable ducky print PJs he apparently bought just for this occasion. You very specifically do not look at the open space where he didn’t button them all the way up. Just like you very specifically have not looked at said open space approximately nine thousand times since you arrived. Okay, maybe you have once or twice, but it’s only to think about the extremely important question of how a person with no tiddies can have such juicy cleavage.

You need to be stopped.

And you need to pay attention to what he’s saying. You think he asked you a question, so you just nod and look back up into his  _ eyes _ instead of his  _ chest _ and he grins and reaches for the obnoxiously large blanket Barbatos had provided for you (before spiriting himself away to do whatever he does when he’s not actively butlering). Before you can properly register what’s happening, he’s slid onto the couch next to you and pulled the blanket over his legs.

Okay then. Not quite what you expected, but you can work with this. And hey, the proximity might be useful. Hopefully you can get a good groping in without alerting Lucifer to your true sinister intentions. You peek over Diavolo’s shoulder to make sure Lucifer’s not watching you, then relax when you see that he’s distracted by the TV, a look of disgust as he watches the generic romcom protagonists get familiar with each other. Sweet. You remain unwatched, for now.

“So.” Diavolo starts. Oh no. Only a moment ago you were trying to avoid getting questioned by him. “Is this a popular movie in the human world?” Damn him, you can’t just ignore a direct question like that. Especially when he looks so curious.

You shrug. “I dunno. It looks familiar, but I don’t think I’ve actually seen it.” Hopefully that will satisfy him for now. And it seems to, the non-pointy eared devilish princeling simply smiling (he does that a lot, apparently) and relaxing into a comfortable position next to you. And stealing the bowl of popcorn you’d stolen away from Mammon.

“Uh, rude. What the fuck, man?” You turn, trying to grab it back, and he lifts it away from you with his annoyingly long arm and grins.

Okay, it’s on. No one fucks with your food. You get up on your knees, plant one hand firmly on his shoulder (god, those deltoids), and lean over him to snatch at the bowl.

In that moment, a couple of things happen in very quick succession.

First, your knee catches on the large and fluffy blanket.

Second, Asmo begins to giggle wickedly as Levi and Lucifer make almost identical noises of disgust. A shrill “This is NOT a romcom, is it?” in the not-very-dulcet tones of the Avatar of Envy pierces the room. Asmo is very obviously delighted that he'd managed to trick so many people into watching something that, if you had been paying attention, you would've remembered is famous for being a lot more on the 'rom' side of 'romcom'.

Third, Mammon, who had been curled up snugly by your legs, huffs indignantly and reaches over to slap Asmo on the arm (“What the hell, dude?!”), dragging said blanket along with him and sending you wildly off balance as your whole leg slides out from under you.

Fourth, your face smashes into Diavolo’s sternum with the approximate force of a meteor striking the Earth. Or at least that’s how it feels, based off the sudden flash of pain that snaps through your nose and teeth like a whip made of fire and acid and all the terrible things in the world.

Fifth, Diavolo jerks in surprise, jostling the popcorn bowl and sending bits of food all over the place.

Ow.

Fuck.

This is assuredly  _ not _ how you intended to get your face all up in Diavolo’s delicious pectorals. You have popcorn in your hair and you think your nose might be bleeding a little bit. You scrunch up your face. It’s definitely not broken, at least.

His chest is warm and muscular and you think for a moment that you might want to have your face buried in it forever, but that would be counter-intuitive to your plans to get your popcorn back, grope every hot celestial being in the universe, and then dominate said universe and rule with an iron, ass slapping fist. In that order. Sigh, some things are just not meant to be. Lifting your head up, you notice that you’ve left a small blood stain on Diavolo’s cute ducky pajamas. Serves him right for the butter on your own clothing. Fuck, why does this shit always have to happen to you?

Oh, right. Karma. You forgot for a moment that you’re a little bit of a shithead. That’s probably it.

Sighing and wiping the blood from your face, you sit back up and sniff indignantly. And grab a piece of popcorn from where it landed in Diavolo’s (still very juicy, if not slightly coated in your nose-blood and popcorn crumbs) cleavage, stuffing it into your mouth. “I meant to do that.” You did not mean to do that. Diavolo looks flabbergasted. You think he may be just a little bit of a huge dork.  


In the future you’ll look back on this moment and laugh, because within two minutes you’re suddenly swarmed by a harem of worried demons trying to make sure you didn’t accidentally maul yourself on Diavolo’s rock-solid boobies.

Really, your life is fucking bonkers.


	9. Bonus Chapter 2: Barbatos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbuttass gets to be in the limelight a little sooner (and much longer) this time! Who doesn’t love this shady butler boye? And boy is he shady.

You take in a deep breath to brace yourself, finger hovering over the fancy doorbell. You feel a little sick like you’re about to do something that will end terribly. Of course, this is all nerves, and you know it. But still, something is intimidating about just popping up uninvited to a person’s house- no, palace- and ringing the doorbell.

‘Hey daddy Dia, sorry about bleeding all over your jammies, I’ve come to make it up to you by baking up those rolled cookie things you like except _someone_ trashed the kitchen (one of Satan’s shitty pranks on Lucifer gone terribly wrong. Googly eyes everywhere) and I don’t know how to actually make them so I was gonna ask your butler so is it cool if I come in?’ is a pretty reasonable greeting, right? Gotta be.

God, when did you become such a coward? Just ring the damn doorbell, (_).

‘Sheesh, what a rude narrator,’ you think, huffing and pressing your finger to the button. Before you can apply enough force to actually ring it, however, the beautiful ornamental door creaks open.

Okay. Creepy.

Shaking your head at the weirdness you’ve somehow gotten used to, you step inside and look around. No one there. Interesting. You hope you’re not trespassing or anything. Diavolo’s told you that you can visit whenever you like, but _still_.

Just as you start contemplating leaving and coming back later (maybe you could text ahead next time), you hear a soft rustling sound.

“Hello, (_).”

“Son of a **_BITCH_ **-” You whip around, ready to punch the daylights out of whoever just snuck up on you. Being the squishiest and weakest person in the Devildom requires a good sense of self-preservation.

Barbatos chuckles, covering his mouth daintily with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

You hope your scowl is as harsh as you intend. Probably not, but a person can try. “If you weren’t cute and intimidatingly powerful I’d be kicking your ass right now,” you cross your arms. “Trying to scare me to death?”

He smiles, giving a tiny bow and gesturing for you to walk with him. “My lord isn’t here, so I’m not technically on shift at the moment. I get to have a little fun, and I like to enjoy the little things in life. That trick works on very few demons.” He gives you a long look as you follow alongside him. “Could someone _really_ scare you to death?”

“Psh. I was exaggerating, but.” You scratch your head awkwardly. “Yeah, actually. It’s happened loads of times, some people’s hearts just give out. I guess it’s not that likely if you’re young and healthy, but old people or people with heart problems might actually have a heart attack.”

Barbatos thinks for a moment, turning a corner with you and making a quiet ‘hmmm’ sound. He’s completely confident in where he’s going, despite the maze-like nature of the building. A few hallways you’ve seen in past visits don’t even seem to follow Euclidean geometry, twisting in unnatural and physics-defying ways. Then again, you’ve seen his bedroom. It looks like it was peeled right out of Escher’s brain and made into reality. Only then do you realize you never actually told him what you’re here for, but he speaks up before you can address it.

“Well. I’ll try not to do that in the future.” He smiles at you (oh no, that’s cute as fuck) and opens a door, once again doing a little bow. “Guests first.”

You raise your eyebrow and go into the room, which appears to be a very pristine kitchen with marble countertops and stone tile floors polished so smoothly that you actually lose traction for a moment. Barbatos quickly places a steadying arm around your shoulders so you don’t slam your face right into the mirror-shine floor. “Careful,” he whispers, suddenly much closer to you than a moment before. Scratch that, he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and inviting and-

Fuck. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts. Now is _not_ the time. You’re here to learn about baking, not to feel up Diavolo’s handsome butler. Tempting as it may be. And boy, it is suddenly very tempting. Quickly pushing away those thoughts, you thank him for catching you and walk further into the kitchen. Fortunately the floor around the actual working space seems to have been worn down slightly, less likely to be slipped on. You hear him moving around behind you, so you turn to see what he’s doing. Which just so happens to be stripping out of his jacket and hanging it on a coat hook near the door. He looks over to you with a tiny smile just as he removes his tie, tossing it on the hook as well.

What was that you were saying about heart attacks? Oh yeah, that he was going to give you one. You turn quickly on your heel and start inspecting the woodgrain on the cabinets _thoroughly_. Huh. That bit looks like a wizard’s face. Cool. A few moments later, Barbatos steps up beside you and turns on the sink to wash his hands, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and gloves missing.

It feels… a little weird, seeing him not completely put together in his uniform. Even the lack of gloves feels like you’re seeing something rare and precious. His nails are painted, just like everyone else’s. Interesting.

Okay, enough staring at the pretty boy’s hands. You scoot up beside him and turn on the other side of the sink (marveling at how fancy the kitchen is, enough to have a double-faucet sink), quickly washing up your hands.

“So!” you start, scrubbing away. “I guess you know why I’m here. I keep forgetting you have super epic time powers and can see the future and shit like that.”

That gets a real laugh out of him, though it’s quickly stifled down to another soft chuckle. Shit, that’s still cute as fuck. “I don’t know if I would say ‘epic’ time powers, but they’re certainly very useful.” He dries his hands off on a towel, reaching up to rifle through one of the cabinets above the sink. “Especially for playing tricks on unsuspecting guests.” He winks at you, pulling down a large mixing bowl and pan.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a shady dude. You know that, right?” You dry your hands as well, watching him start to move around the kitchen to grab ingredients and utensils with practiced ease.

“If that’s what you choose to believe,” he says, sounding far too amused to be innocent as he sets the oven to preheat. You squint suspiciously at him. Definitely shady. And a lot less reserved than normal. _Interesting_. He sets everything out on the counter, turning to you. “Would you like to measure out the ingredients, or shall I?”

Damn good question. You don’t know if you could avoid getting distracted by him doing Attractive Demon Things and accidentally mixing up salt and sugar or something, so… “How about you do it? You’ve got more practice.”

He nods. “Alright. Watch carefully.” And then he’s moving, perfectly measured ingredients mixing together. He tells you how much of what to put where, and you think it’d be hard to follow if he wasn’t so patient and calm about it. He lets you lean over his shoulder to watch how he mixes it up (some demonic ingredients can apparently be a bit volatile, an idea that makes you just a little bit nervous when you remember that the main ingredient in these is called Hellfire mushrooms) and by the time you remember that you’re supposed to be participating, everything’s already mixed and all that needs doing is preparing it to go in the oven.

“So is this the part where I join in?” You ask, leaning against the counter. Barbatos suddenly has a very distinct atmosphere of someone who has just realized they’ve gotten carried away with something.

He wipes some flour off of his hands, clearing his throat. “Ah, yes. I’m afraid I did most of the work for you.” He almost looks sheepish, eyes flicking to the mixing bowl with the filling in it. “Would you like to spread out the dough? I’ll teach you how to roll them up properly.”

You nod, taking the bowl and carefully dropping spoonfuls of the dough as he directs you. It gets easier with each one, and soon he’s just stepped back to watch. And tug at his shirt collar a bit. A quick glance at him reveals that he’s unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt (and hot diggity dang doo, you were _not_ prepared for that sight). You blink incredulously, to which he smiles and says something along the lines of ‘It’s awfully hot in here with that oven going, isn’t it? Aren’t you warm?’

Not that you’re listening. Instead, you gape at him for a few seconds before he quickly reaches out and gently pushes your hand back over the dough bowl to catch the large dollop that starts sliding off the edge of the spoon you’re holding. Oops. You snap out of your reverie and quickly finish spreading out the dough in neat little circles and spread them out as evenly as you can. Some of them are a little wonky, but you don’t think Diavolo will mind. Or at least you hope he won’t.

Once you’ve got the shell of the cookies laid out, he tells you to make a second layer with the sweet mushroom filling, which you do with ease. Hell yeah, you excel at everything you do. Obviously. A true paragon of skill, that’s you.

Just as you feel the smugness settling in (‘Look, ma! I made some circles and only got distracted by the hot guy taking off his shirt once!’), he steps around you and picks up the tray, sliding it into the oven. Barehanded. And without setting a timer, but you guess that his time powers do have some uses outside of reversing death itself. Demons sure are weird!

He taps a nail on the counter to a beat you don’t immediately recognize, looking off into the distance. Once again, not that you’re paying attention. Your focus has been firmly arrested by the undone buttons on his shirt. Why _did_ he do that? (collarbones) He’s never gotten so overtly casual in any memory you have of him, always very proper and put together. ( _collarbones_ ) It almost seems out of character for him, maybe he feels comfortable around you? ( _hnnngh those collarbones_ ) But that’s preposterous.

Only a couple minutes later, Barbatos stands up straight (once again snapping out of your thirst) and opens the oven, pulling out the tray. At least this time he grabbed a potholder first, you’re still not sure exactly how resistant to fire demons are and you don’t feel like finding out via Barbatos’s hand melting. He quickly grabs some sort of spatula and gestures for you to come over.

“Here, I’ll roll the first one so you can see. They need to be rolled quickly or they won’t take the right shape.” Making sure you’re watching (and not thinking about that triangle of newly exposed skin, god you’re thirsty), he slides the spatula under the edge of one and flips it up before rolling it over itself into a tight cigar shape, placing it on a wire rack that seems to have appeared from nowhere. “There, it’s quite simple. Your turn.”

You take the spatula. Step into place. Flip up the edge of the cookie. Only, once you actually start rolling it, things go South. Not literally, of course, but the cookie doesn’t roll right and ends up looking more like a deranged cattail plant than a cigar.

“Aw, shit. It’s absolutely fucked. I fucked up a perfectly good cigar cookie,” you huff. What was that about excelling in everything you do?

“You didn’t. It’s just got character.” Barbatos chuckles (still so cute), and before you know it he’s suddenly pressed up against your back, hand sliding over yours. “Here, let me show you again.”

Oh.

Uh.

This is happening.

Fuck, this is _happening_.

You’re unable to process anything other than the fact that he’s practically wrapped around you and holding your hands to show you how to roll these stupid cookies and set them on the rack to cool. If you were a lesser person you’d probably be losing your mind right now. Though as it is, you already lost it when you first got your hands on Luci’s deliciously plush ass.

Then it all falls into place. The last time you got so close to him, he’d invited you to come to talk with him _privately_ , but you never showed. Lucifer had dragged you off to chew you out for ‘assaulting’ everyone and you hadn’t gotten a chance to be alone with him since. Suddenly a lot of his actions today make some sort of sense. The comment about having some fun, the loosening of personal boundaries, the shameless nature in which he partially undressed (probably knowing it would fluster you, the shady bastard), the casual way he’s been acting, and now him getting all up in your business. He’s either messing with you, or… You know what, let’s not think of the other possibilities just now. Your poor little heart can’t take the implications.

Barbatos: 1

(_): 0

Well, two can play at that game. You do still remember the pretty pink blush from when you delivered a patented (_) Ass Slap to his butler booty, and you think you can do it again. No one beats you when it comes to feeling people up. Nobody. Not even Asmo.

You let him finish puppeteering your hands to prepare the cookies. It wouldn’t do to ruin all this hard work, and it only takes a moment. Once he’s set everything out to cool, he steps back so you can escape. Only, these floors are very slick. So very slick, you’ve already tripped once today.

Well, that number will stay the same. But he doesn’t need to know that, especially when you tumble into him. Your aim is perfect and he reacts just as you expected, catching you once again. Your whole face (including your still slightly bruised nose, ouch) smacks into the middle of his chest, right at the open part of his collar and you wrap your arms around him ‘to steady yourself’.

Aw yis. This is what heaven must feel like. It’s warm demon tiddies in a kitchen that smells of freshly baked cookies. Life is beautiful. Your bliss is punctuated by the tiniest little surprised gasp from Barbatos as you grip onto him tighter so you can stand back up and look him in the face. The very pink, very carefully composed face.

You pat his chest (dang, butlers must do more physical labor than you thought based on the firmness) and step away. “Shit, sorry about that. You gotta put a rug down or something or someone’s gonna end up breaking an arm.”

And with the knowledge that you made yet another powerful demon man blush, you get set cleaning up as if nothing happened.

Barbatos: 1

(_): 1

Little do you know that you once again neglected to consider the full scope of his super epic time powers.

Barbatos: 2

(_): 0

All according to keikaku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO Barbatos is pretty shady and sneaky huh? Thanks to Hal for the idea of him setting himself up for it and being in a constant state of trying to get MC to grope him. Love ya!  
> This ended up being longer than I intended by almost 1000 words but GOD I really wanted him to startle mc in the beginning. So the Buttler gets a little extra appreciation this go. Also, I ate some cigar cookies while I wrote this, so hah.


	10. Bonus Chapter 3: Solomon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solomon.

There are very few things quite as satisfying as arriving at school early. Even if you’re chronically lazy and tardy. No, especially in that case. You reflect on this as you set your bag down by your desk and stretch your arms up, feeling a soft and satisfying crack in your spine.

Unfortunately, you _hadn’t_ arrived at your first class early, thanks in part to a certain Greed demon being accused of stealing something. And because there’s no justice in the world, when you went to defend him you were roped into the accusation and resulting search. Lucifer’s crystal inkwell had fallen below his desk. You don’t think Mammon will let the accusation go, regardless of how often he can be rightfully accused of stealing. You also don’t think the teacher’s stern and fiery (literally) glare when you entered fifteen minutes late will ever leave the back of your mind.

But hey, you’re not dwelling on that, it was hours ago and you arrived nice and early to all your other classes. That’ll make up for it, right? Lucifer can’t complain about you being late if you were only late because of him.

Well, he probably can. Who knows?

The sound of footsteps is lost on you, but a person leaning over your desk with a swoosh of that silly red uniform cape derails your train of thought in a fiery explosion with lots of sparks and screeching metal and one tiny little _tink_ noise as a single bolt lands daintily on the tracks. Partially because you didn’t expect anyone to hop into class this early, and partially because said silly red cape smacked you in the face as Solomon settled in front of you with far more grace and ceremony than is, quite frankly, necessary.

Fucking wizards, man. Always so dramatic.

“(_), how are you?” He smiles at you politely, which is made all the shadier because of the fact that it’s such a polite and ordinary expression. He looks like he’s not up to something, which means he is definitely up to something.

You raise an eyebrow, tugging your notebook out from under his hand. “Doing just fine, thanks. What’s up with you?”

The smile becomes even more polite, and even more shady. “Nothing worth noting.” Hard to believe, that. “I heard you got in trouble earlier. _Fifteen_ minutes late for class?”

Ah, there it is. “Yep. There was some drama at the HOL this morning.” You cross your arms, squinting up at him. “Not the kind of drama you’re interested in, though. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

He laughs, perfectly innocent. His fingers begin drumming a soft beat on the glossy wooden surface of your desk. “I’m not ‘interested’ in drama. I just like to know what’s happening around me.”

“So you’re nosy.”

“Sure, we can go with that. So, what was the drama?” Solomon flicks a piece of lint off your desk, still leaning on it. He’s not quite in your personal space, but he’s close enough to get there pretty quickly.

You snort, getting out all your supplies. “Like I said, nothing interesting. Lucifer being a prick, mostly. He lost something and thought Mammon stole it. I got in trouble too. Man’s got a bias, I think.”

Solomon’s smile turns less innocent. Good, that means whatever he’s up to no longer includes you. “I can’t blame him for that.” He gives you a long, appraising look. It’s hard to not imagine that he can somehow look into your mind. You resolutely think of butts, just to unnerve him in case he can see your thoughts somehow through some sick ass wizard magic. And also because you love asses. “I know firsthand that you can get up to some mischief when we least expect it. My shirt is still stained.”

It takes you a minute to remember the specific event he’s talking about, seeing as how he is completely and totally right. You grin. “One part hydrogen peroxide and one part water to remove icing stains. And you know I wasn’t the mastermind behind that one. Talk to Asmo if you wanna bitch about it.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, just _hmm_ s quietly, and continues drumming his fingers. A small group of students has already entered the class, another following close behind. He looks up at them for half a second, dismisses them as unimportant, and looks back at you. “I'm not going to ask how you know that off the top of your head. So. Like I said. Knowing you, there’s almost always some scheme cooking up in that brain of yours. Yes?”

Smart bastard. You nod.

“That’s what I thought.” All at once you see a shift in him, his smile turning mischievous and his eyes glinting. “Maybe if you tell me what it is, I can help you? A little olive branch. That shirt was expensive, after all.”

You purse your lips, looking around. Voice low, you lean in and whisper to him, “Do you really wanna know?”

He nods.

“Come here then, I’m not gonna say it where people can hear it. Demons have sharp ears and I don’t want it getting back to _him_.” Solomon looks absolutely delighted, leaning in eagerly. You hook your finger into his tie, tugging him down slightly. “Closer than that.”

He leans in more, looking at you curiously. He can almost feel his breath on your face, he’s so close to you. Hook, line, and sinker. Honestly, you expected more from him.

You grab hold of his tie properly and bodily yank him over to you. You ignore the pain of his weight crashing the desk into your ribs, instead wrapping an arm around him to keep him in place. He lets out a little yelp of surprise and before he can pull away you shove your face into his chest and blow a raspberry into his fancy uniform shirt so loud that it actually reverberates in the large, mausoleum-like classroom.

There is silence. Pure, unadulterated, so-thick-you-can-cut-it-with-a-knife, heavy silence. Except for that one demon who always has mosquitos around him for some bizarre and unholy reason. You hate that guy. You release Solomon’s tie, deftly patting it back into place and smoothing the wrinkles out of it. He shakes himself out of his stupor (hah!) and stands up, righting his clothes. A quiet, barely-there blush dusts his cheeks. Once again you think, ‘I expected more from him.’

“I see,” he says, not seeing. “If you didn’t want to tell me, you could’ve just said so.”

You grin once again. Everyone is staring at the two token humans, but no one seems to be quite sure if this is a human thing or a thing unique to the two token humans.

“Silly Solomon. _That_ is what I was up to. Not every scheme has to be fancy and multi-stepped and complicated,” you say, knowing full well you are a god-damned fountain of wisdom when it comes to bullshit and fuckery.

Sometimes you just have to take an opportunity where you can find it. And what an opportunity this was, considering the demonic snickering and hellish cajoling poor Solomon is going through. You’re sure you’ll regret embarrassing him in front of everyone at some point, but that is the future and this is now and you’re more inclined to think of the surprisingly lovely shape of his chest than of any possible revenge he might take on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boy lost his OM account because of technical issues (shitty phone lost my damn transfer code) and I'm waiting on the support team to tell me if they can get it back for me. Updates should continue as normal, but I will definitely be writing for other fandoms as well now that something has detached my brain from the obsession I've developed for this game.


	11. Bonus Chapter 4: Simeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simeon boobies. Yeas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my OM account back YEET

The Archive in the Devildom is a truly impressive library filled with rows and rows of shelves and ladders and staircases that defy the size of the exterior of the building. It’s obviously very old, older than you can truly grasp, but it’s well taken care of despite the worn down floors and occasionally slimy fingers of hundreds of demons. The paint is smooth and flawless, the shelves are well maintained and books are kept in perfect order through enchantments that float them into the right spot if they’re misplaced. You’ve seen similar in Satan’s room, but it’s especially cool in such a large space.

Of course, you’re not particularly paying attention to the fine details of the vast collection of knowledge you’ve found yourself in. Mostly because Simeon (damn him and his prettiness) is talking to you and you’re far too focused on the line of his collarbone as it disappears under his breathtakingly tight shirt. Too gorgeous.

He tilts his head and frowns prettily at you, genuine concern on his face. “(_)? Are you alright? You seem… Distracted.”

Fuck, you’ve been caught. You blink away the images going through your head and smile at him. “Yeah, I’m good. I just…” Shit, how can you get out of telling him how obnoxiously hot he is? “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, y’know? Kinda zoning out today, you know how it is.”

Very smooth. Well, it’s true. Levi was up all night screeching over some shitty horror game he had gotten the following day.

He smiles cheerily at you. “Yes, I do know how it is.” Simeon turns back to the shelf he was searching through and runs a finger down the spine of a book (it shivers and changes color, which is not the weirdest thing you’ve seen during your exchange but it’s definitely up there). “Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay? We can’t have you dropping from exhaustion.”

“Aww, how sweet. You’re worried about me.”

He chuckles at your teasing tone, sifting through more books. “Of course. Who else would I get to study with me?”

“You literally live with two other people who take the same classes as you,” you answer, opening up a book which promptly rearranges all of the text inside it to just say your name over and over. Creepy.

Simeon takes the book from you, hands brushing against yours, and puts it back. “True. But I would rather spend my Saturday evening with you."

…

Damn him. Your heart can’t take this, he's too pretty. You stumble for words for a minute while he looks at you with painfully obvious amusement. 

“... Sssso! Which book are we looking for again? We should go ask the receptionist where it is.”

You know he catches on, but he accepts the subject change. “I think it was…” He thinks for a moment, squinting at the books lining the shelves. “Right, now I remember. A Brief History of Sigils, Symbols, and Summoning Circles and Their Uses in Demonic Rituals. Volume 87, cursed edition.”

You snort. “Fucking seriously? 87 volumes is not  _ brief _ . And why do we need the cursed edition? I refuse to be turned into a frog or whatever weird-ass shit might happen.”

Simeon just shrugs and keeps looking. “I think it has some edited passages. Besides, I don’t think the curse would be harmful. Otherwise, it would be called the ‘deadly’ edition, or something.”

You raise your eyebrow even though he can’t see it. “Speak for yourself, flyboy. Squishy fragile human, remember? You might be able to handle frogification, but I don’t want to be slimy.”

He laughs, the cheeky bastard. “Well, I’m sure it won’t come to that. I’ll go talk to the receptionist, you keep looking. Text me if you find it, okay?”

"Sure thing."

And with that Simeon is off, leaving you to scan over the dozens of books. You're in the right section based on the ever-useful Dewey Decimal System, but the shelf in front of you stretches up at least five or six times your height. You sigh and find the nearest step-stool (which wobbles precariously when you step onto it), moving up to the next row.

It takes you a solid minute of looking over titles and labels, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you see it. A ratty old tome with that long ass title printed down the spine in tiny, spidery letters. You fist pump in triumph and reach for it, but of course, things can never be easy for you. The moment your fingers brush the worn-out leather surface of the book, it shakes violently and disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving behind a fancy pentagram hovering in the air.

God fucking damnit. Cursed items are the worst. The pentagram slowly fades away and you see a tiny flash as the book appears a shelf higher than it was a minute ago, nestled into a previously empty space like it belongs there. You scowl at it as menacingly as possible. If it’s sentient (which would genuinely not surprise you) you hope you’re scaring the shit out of it.

Simeon hasn’t gotten back yet, and you decide to just stare the bastard book down until he does. Partially to keep an eye on it in case it disappears again, but in all honesty it’s mostly because you’re determined to direct as much irritation at it as possible. To show it who’s boss. 

The book is unimpressed.

“Alright, she said it should be right here,” Simeon says, stepping up beside you from your perch on the stepstool. “Apparently it’s ‘tricky’, though. Something about not liking being touched by ‘mortal hands’ or somethi-” He stops short, noticing your glare. “What happened?”

You glare even harder, secretly hoping you’ve got some latent magical ability that can set the thing on fire. “Found the book. Can confirm, it doesn’t like  _ mortal hands _ ,” you say as mockingly as you can. “The little fucker teleports.”

Simeon  _ hmm _ s. “Well, my hands are immortal, as far as I know. Do you want me to try?”

You shrug, stepping down. “Be my guest. Try not to fall though, that stool is wobbly as shit.”

“I’ll do my best,” he chuckles, handing you his cape thing so it doesn’t get in his way (you drape it over yourself delightedly and he seems perfectly fine with that) and carefully getting onto the stool. He quickly places a hand on your shoulder when it wiggles under him, gripping tightly to steady himself. “Okay, which book is it?”

You point at it with your middle finger and he stretches up to try and reach it. He snatches at it a few times, lifting up onto his tiptoes and pressing closer to you for balance. Oh boy. That sure is a very tight shirt thing he’s wearing. Very close to your face.

Very, very close. And suddenly even closer, as the stool bobbles again and sends him clinging to you with both hands. You wrap your arms around his waist (!!!) so he can have a hand free, trying not to think about those wonderful hip windows he’s got. Another try later and he’s got the book. It doesn’t disappear or do anything else un-book-like, so you figure you’ve won this round and Simeon smiles triumphantly (and adorably).

God, what a cutie. Completely unfair and distracting. You know you’re just sort of staring at him, but you don’t particularly care at the moment. You’re too focused on his… Well, his everything. At least, everything within your line of sight.  _ For now _ .

...

You know what? What’s life without a little risk? That’s practically your motto at this point, and you’re going to demonstrate it right now.

With very little ceremony, you shove your face into his chest (gosh, that shirt is too damn tight) and snuggle in. It’s unbearably pleasant. You thought a warm demon chest might be heaven, but an actual angels is pretty high up there as well. It’s possible they have some sort of calming or healing effect based entirely on how blissed out you feel right now. You sigh happily, the sound making another (albeit smaller and less hilarious than previous examples) raspberry against his chest.

“Um.” Simeon tilts his head at you, still holding onto your shoulder with one hand. “What-”

“Shush. Tiddy time,” you interrupt. You unwrap one arm and poke at his chest. “Let me have a moment. Besides, you said ‘private’ last time, didn’t you? I don’t see anyone here.”

“That’s true,” he says, accepting your spectacular logic. Mercifully, he doesn’t point out that you can’t see much of anything with your face buried comfortably in his chest. He also doesn’t push you away or tell you to get your yucky human hands off him like a certain greedy boy would, so you just press your cheek up against his sternum (Why is he so warm and comfy? Unfair.) for a few more seconds and then let go so he can get down. The stool wobbles yet again but doesn’t dump him off, and he carefully takes back the comfy cape thing and puts it on before leading you out of this row to find the next book, starting up another conversation like nothing happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later Simeon handed MC the book and it teleported to another building, cueing a wild chase with yakety sax playing in the background as they chased the thing across the Devildom.


	12. Bonus Chapter 5: Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precious kiddo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are not lewding the sweet baby angel. Hugs ONLY.

“Okay, so tell me. Why have I never seen you and Simeon transform? I’ve seen basically all the other guys do it. Do you not have special forms or something? Don’t angels have wings?”

Luke shrugs, picking up some sort of fruit you don’t recognize and sniffing at it. “We do. Well…” He puts the fruit back, scowling at it. “Not  _ every _ angel has wings.”

“Really? Why not? Is it an individual thing or are there different types? Wait, I think I read once about this type of angel that’s just, like, a goddamn flaming wagon wheel covered in eyes and shit. Which is dope, by the way.” You bounce on your heels excitedly, gaining some annoyed looks from the patrons at the market.

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have devoured an entire platter of Luke’s amazing cupcakes before going ingredients shopping with him. You have way too much sugar in your blood right now, and you know it. You can’t help it, they’re just so delicious. There’s gotta be some sort of secret ingredient that makes them extra good, you know you wouldn’t have had that many otherwise.

Luke gasps and stares at you, shock written all over his face. “D-Don’t say that!” He looks around like he’s worried someone will jump out of the banana display and smack you over the head with a newspaper.

You frown, trying to think back to what you said that might bother him so much. “What, the ‘dope’ thing? Is that offensive? Or is it rude to ask about angel wings or something?”

Luke blinks at you incredulously, still looking nervous and offended. “What? No. The-... The, uh. The…” He falters, looking down at the floor.

“Luke, what thing? I can’t not do it if you don’t tell me what it is, okay?”

He frowns and looks up at you, blushing in embarrassment. What a cute little chihuahua he is. “The thing! That you said! Don’t say it!”

You don’t get it.

Luke sighs and tugs your shirt, so you crouch down to his level. He glances at a nearby demon who is completely uninterested in you and very interested in a rotten looking apple. Seeing that no one’s paying attention, he leans in to whisper in your ear. 

“The… the ‘God damn’ thing.”

As soon as the words come out, he slaps his hands over his mouth and mutters to himself. You can’t catch what he’s saying, but it might be some kind of prayer for forgiveness. He looks like he’s genuinely about to start crying, the poor boy.

Oh my goodness, he is so cute. You have a sudden, very strange urge to protect him from everything bad in the world, including your own foul language. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll watch my mouth. Is it the…” You take a second to figure out how to word it so you don’t accidentally set him off again. “Is it the first word that’s the problem, or the second one?”

He sniffs and uncovers his mouth, looking up at you with watery eyes. “Uh. B-both?”

You nod. “Okay, I won’t say them around you again.”

Luke smiles at that, wiping his nose. Fortunately, neither that or his eyes started dripping, so you consider that a success. “Okay!”

You grin and ruffle his bangs (he squeaks and pushes your hand away). “Okay. Is a hug a good enough apology?”

He blushes again (precious kid) and nods, staring very hard at a nearby peach, like it’s got the answers to every question in the world wrapped up in its fuzzy skin. You wrap your arms around him and give him a big hug, and despite his fake disinterest he quickly hugs back so tightly you think he might pop one of your ribs out of place, burying his face in your shoulder.

Someone shifts noisily and Luke quickly pulls away, wriggling out of your grip as if you’ve suddenly caught on fire. You snort and stand up, knees cracking (gross, what the fuck) as you do, and he makes a face.

“What? I’m old.” You stretch your arms over your head, delighted at the disgusted expression on his face when your spine makes a satisfying pop. “Behold the grandparent's joints.”

He scrunches up his nose, going back to picking out fruit so he can ignore your snaps, crackles, and pops. “You’re not  _ old _ . I’m older than you, you know.”

You pat the top of his cute little hat, flicking the dangly thing on it. “Yeah, but you’re short. Doesn’t count.”

“I am NOT short!”

“You’re shorter than me, kid. Which means you’re short. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s not how it works! And I’m not a kid!”

“Kinda is. And you totally are. Look at how short you are!”

“No, it is not! And I’m not!”

Your playful argument continues as you pick out fruits and flour. Ten minutes later you’re kicked out on your ass (thankfully not literally) for causing a ‘disturbance’ in the fruits section. And you didn't even get all your ingredients.  


God damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby boy baby. This marks the end of Berry Boats.  
> Also, I will be deleting that extra chapter that isn't actually a story update, but I will save all of the comments so I can use all of your wonderful ideas in future Audacity fics! I hope you enjoyed this tiddy touching journey as much as I did. <3


End file.
